Strip
by Sable Supernova
Summary: There are a lot of people in this world who harbour secrets. For these people, some of their secrets were not quite so secret. What they didn't know, though, was that they all harboured the same one. Collection of Stripper!AUs. Make of that what you will.
1. Strip - Sirius

**Written for the Daily Weird Prompt Competition, for the prompt Stripper!Sirius.**

 **Enjoy.**

 _637 words_

* * *

 **Strip**

Sirius Black was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and now he was scrounging for his daily bread. That was difficult for him, as much as he hated to admit it. His Uncle Alphard had left him a grand sum, that was true, but the majority of that had bought his London flat, and there was precious little of it left now.

But Sirius Black had something. He was no stranger to fawning looks of girls, giggling over his charm. He looked good, and he knew it. Years playing Quidditch had refined his muscles, and he was proud.

It had started as a joke amongst his friends, until James had drunkenly suggested he try it as a career. Now, stripping was his main source of income, and as he prepared for his next appointment, he couldn't help but smile. It had to be said, he got a lot out of it. Aside from the cash in his back pocket, the ego boost could not be compared to anything, and occasionally, one of the girls would ask him to stick around. Sirius Black was not the kind of man to say no.

Tonight, they wanted a Quidditch star for a birthday party, so Sirius picked out his favourite Warbeck record and the modified robes of his favourite team, the Montrose Magpies. He made sure he was showered and shaved before checking the time. He was expected at the address in ten minutes time, by Floo, and he checked he had the address correct before pinning a note to the fridge in case anyone should call by.

It was a small house in Godric's Hollow, and something about the address felt familiar, but he let it slide. He'd probably just performed there before, after all.

Arriving in the living room, he was greeted by screams and cheers of a dozen drunk women and one or two men - he guessed they were probably boyfriends - and he let his eyes scour the room. He took in the family-orientated room, guessing the parents were probably away, and the short skirts. In the middle of the room, his gaze fell on the birthday girl and his heart initially sank. Staring at him, aghast, sat Marlene McKinnon.

"What the fuck?" she asked, glancing at Mary MacDonald, sat at her right. Sirius just smirked. Now _this_ was a woman he could please.

They had history together, sure, in a dark broom closet at their old school, but Sirius' memory didn't fail him, and he knew it was a history he wouldn't mind revisiting. He was sure he could still feel her nails clawing at his back.

Turning on the music, he began his routine, ignoring her question as his eyes never strayed from hers.

The screams and comments from the girls were background noise, disappearing into a haze, as Marlene's shock faded into something more playful. A smirk graced her features as she allowed her eyes to watch him, eyeing his body, analysing his every move. He felt blood rush south, and the stark realisation hit him that when he revealed all, he might be sporting an erection. Usually, the dance was fun and lighthearted, but something about Marlene's gaze was intoxicating and sensual. He drank it in unabashedly, realising that he didn't care. The story would get out anyway - he might as well make it one worth telling.

When it was all over, and he was naked in the middle of the room, he began to gather his things.

"Sorry to duck out, ladies, but I must be on my way," he told them, glancing around the excitement in the room.

"Stay." Marlene's eyes were fixed on him as the giggles faded. Pulling his trousers back on, he smiled.

"Okay."

It seemed for him, the night was just beginning.


	2. The Ecdysiast - Tom

Written for the Weird Prompt Strikes Back, for the prompt Stripper!Tom.

And in case it isn't already obvious, this is AU.

* * *

 **The Ecdysiast**

Tom Riddle was nine when it happened. He knew he'd been special before, able to control the elements to scare the other children into respect for him, but since the fire, that was all gone. The fire had been of his own creation, but the dry wooden floors of the orphanage were his match. The flames had lapped at everything in their path, eating away at the walls, the furniture, the flesh. Tom was one of the lucky ones, they'd said, escaping without scars, with his life. He didn't feel lucky. He felt… normal. Tom Riddle didn't like that feeling.

* * *

He spent his teenage years desperately trying to get back what he'd once had, reading any book he could find in the local libraries on magic. None of them helped. Not even the faintest flicker of anything erupted from his fingertips when he tried. He was laughed at, ridiculed, and withdrew further and further into the murky depths of his own mind.

He didn't try at school. He didn't want to. The lessons bored him anyway. And how could he compete in a world where magic existed? He knew magic existed; he knew it in his very bones. It was a knowledge that taunted him, night and day; he knew he would be great if he could only taste it.

He still remembered the taste. Five years later, he remembered the delicious burn in his chest, the smile on his face, the fear in the eyes of that boy he'd made bend under his control. That very boy that kicked him in the stomach at lunchtime, school bully extraordinaire these days; he had the control now.

Tom Riddle felt like he had nothing.

* * *

Paper shopping bag digging into his wrist, leaving deep welts in his skin as his hand slowly turned red, Tom fumbled for the key to his terraced house. It had been a council house a few decades ago, before it fell into a state of disrepair so putrid the council had sold it on the cheap.

Letting himself into the two-up, two-down, he shoved the things on his counter towards the pile that had accumulated to the back and placed the bag down, removing a tin of beans. Swatting a fly away, Tom picked up a pan and grimaced at the mould inside before heading over to his sink, stepping over a bag of rubbish. He'd tried, at least, he thought with a sigh. He knew he'd allowed this to happen; he'd become so absorbed in his own misery he'd forgotten to care.

He washed the pan quickly, emptying the tin's contents into it before placing it on the stove and beginning his search for a bowl and spoon. He would have liked them with bread, but he hadn't been able to afford any.

He had to eat quickly tonight, he knew. He was being paid tonight, which meant he could pay his bills, buy himself some scrumpy, and maybe an ounce of tobacco, tomorrow. Tomorrow, things would be better.

There weren't many men in his line of work, he knew that, but his kind were seen as a novelty amongst the depraved and nefarious parties of certain folk in the ruling class. They paid well, that much was known, but most avoided them like they had the plague.

Tom's dreams worshipped them. He dreamt of a world where he was amongst them, no - he dreamt of a world where he was above them, sat at the centre of the high table, watching the amusements with an air of sick authority, making men like he was now bend to his will. Something told him that was the life he had been meant for.

He dressed for the ball, knowing what would greet him. Painted ladies, dwarves and circus freaks would be his companions for the night. Oh, but he could dream.

* * *

And now, for the ecdysiast! A special treat for the ladies amongst us!" the Master of Ceremonies announced, and Tom knew this was his time. "He calls himself the Dark Lord Voldemort, and he's here just for us tonight!"

He climbed up on the stage, going through the motions of his routine, the mischievous smirk never leaving his features. When he was left stood in just his undergarments, to the laughter and cheers of his adoring crowd, he held a hand out, patiently. They knew what he wanted, and as the deluge of banknotes tumbled onto the stage, Tom resisted the urge to laugh. _They never learn. Such a pity,_ he thought as he took a bow. Before standing, he dropped his undergarments with the last of his dignity, baring all to his enraptured audience.

 _Yes,_ Tom mused. _Life would have been easier with magic._


	3. Exhibition - Severus

_For the following prompts and competitions:_

 _Daily Weird Prompt: Stripper!Severus_

 _School of Prompts: hunt. smile. granite._

 _200 Prompts in 100 Stories: Severus Snape, Taboo_

 _Words: 976_

* * *

 **Exhibition**

Severus Snape had a secret. It wasn't your ordinary, run-of-the mill kind of secret, either. He'd rather the whole world found out he was in love with another man's wife than they knew this.

It started in his bedroom, at home. His mother left him to his own devices quite a lot, and anyone who's ever been a teenage boy knows what happens when one is left to their own devices.

He lay on his bed, casually undoing his trousers, loosening himself so that he might find release, when he realised he has not shut the curtains. He'd always considered it a courtesy to his neighbours that the curtains were closed, especially given how close together the houses were. That day, he left them open. That day, he admitted to himself that the thought of being caught, of being watched, excited him.

That was when it had started.

He left his curtains open all the time from then on, glancing out of them when he dressed in the mornings, when he undressed at night, when he lay down to find his own personal heaven. He hoped to see a glimpse of someone else watching, ether in shock or excitement; studying his naked form.

He'd begun to think the house opposite was empty until he saw her. She was no one in particular, a house wife, and certainly no Lily Evans, but she was watching. As she gave a smile, and a hand reached up to cup her own breast, Severus turned to granite.

The allure of the taboo, the excitement, was more than Severus could bear. When he came, it was glorious, more than he'd ever known before. He knew he simply must experience it again.

Of course, eventually, Lily found out. He remembered it bitterly as one of the most excruciatingly painful conversations he had ever had. It had been at home, after Sixth Year. She was in her bedroom, and Severus had thought she was sleeping. He'd stood below her bedroom window, staring up, playing with himself quite openly under the cover of darkness. When light shone down from drapes that had suddenly been pulled open, he could hardly believe it. It had been what he thought he wanted, why he was stood there, but the disgust that clouded her face was not what he had asked for. He quickly rearranged himself, covering himself as if to pretend it had never happened, hoping she didn't come outside.

She did.

"What the fuck, Sev?" she shouted, prowling towards him across her garden, a woman on the hunt.

"I didn't mean for you to see!" he defended, backing away.

"Then why, in Merlin's name, were you in my frigging garden?" She was irate, sickened, maddened by him. He could see that. He wondered if she hated him now, or if she had hated him already.

"I'm sorry, okay? Let's just pretend it never happened." He wanted out. He wanted out so desperately, he considered running away.

"I can't just pretend… Answer my question, Snape. Why?" she rounded on him. He looked away, ashamed.

"Because I have to, okay? Because I can't… I can't finish unless someone is watching me, or I think I might get caught by someone, or something like that," he said, looking at the ground, unsure why he was bearing his soul to her after she rejected him, so many times.

"That's sick. I'm with James for once, you need help," she replied with a humourless laugh.

"Oh, of course, James fucking Potter. Arrogant twat," Severus scoffed, bitter.

"Don't make this about him." She had the audacity to sigh.

"I didn't. You did. And for the record, when did he become 'James' to you, anyway?"

Lily rolled her eyes and turned around.

"If you want this to be a competition between you and him, he already won. Now piss off, and do yourself a favour. See a professional."

Severus was sure he'd never felt so alone as he did then, watching her retreating form as he was left under the starlight.

He still wouldn't admit she might have been right.

It would be a few years later when he found his calling. There was a profession, seemingly purpose built for people just like him. Professor Dumbledore begged him to consider teaching at Hogwarts, but what kind of life was teaching for a man with a fetish? No, it would not do at all.

He considered working in the magical world, but decided that was far too close to home for his liking. He didn't want to know what James Potter and his insufferable cronies would make of it if they found out. Instead, he headed into the muggle world, into everything he'd always hated, and disappeared.

The muggles didn't know he wasn't doing them a favour. That he was taking from them all the time, and they took nothing from him in return. Not his dignity, he still had that. Not his love, for Lily Evans would always have that. They didn't even cause him pain when they spoke frankly about what they saw. James Potter had made sure of that.

When he did his dance, when he made them watch, he felt alive. He went home with raging excitement, full to the brim of images of eyes and smiles, shock and excitement. He felt certain he could make love to a pair of eyes, watching, waiting.

Tonight was the biggest show he had ever given. Tonight, when they pulled the curtains back, it would be him on a stage, looking out into an audience of hundreds. He had already jerked off twice that day, hoping to avoid performing too well on stage, but all the same, his suspense did not abate.

It had all begun with a curtain left open. Tonight, it would reach climax with a curtain pulled open for him.


	4. Convert - Ron

Written for:

Alys' suggested prompt: stripper!Ron

Weekly Weird Prompt Strikes Back: "People do _this_ for fun?" and [fetish] clothed female, naked male

200 Prompts In 100 Stories: Ron Weasley, Calming Draught.

Greek Mythology Mega Prompt Challenge: Hector: Write about Ron Weasley

Huge TV Show Quotes Bucket: "No offence, but you kind of represent everything I despise in the world." - _Richard, Skins_

The Taylor Swift Challenge: Shake It Off

Character Versatility: Ron Weasley, Male OC

Words: 723

* * *

 **Convert**

"Ron, you're on my left tonight," David said as he combed gel through his hair. Ron hated David. David was the kind of man who whitened his teeth weekly, and Ron didn't get on with men like that. Sure, he himself had taken to working out and looking after himself, but that didn't equate to tanning booths.

Ron just nodded and turned to his own mirror, messing his ginger hair up a little and straightening his silk shirt.

"What's wrong? Just because you don't like me doesn't mean we can't be civil," David commented, icily.

"Look, no offence, but you kind of represent everything I despise in the world," Ron told him.

David just smirked.

"You wanna win the game? You gotta play," he said, before walking off.

For a brief moment, Ron wondered what he was doing here. Was this really what he wanted to be doing for the rest of his life. It beat being a barman, sure, but there was something so superficial about the whole thing.

* * *

" _Ron, you should totally audition," George laughed when he saw the flier his brother had brought home._

 _Harry took it off him and eyed it curiously before his eyes lit up mischievously._

" _You were saying you wanted a career change the other day," he commented, shrugging._

" _Don't even bloody think about it. I'm not auditioning to be a stripper!" Ron replied, adamant._

" _Hey, Ron, you know how you owe me your bill money?" Harry asked, adopting an air of nonchalance._

* * *

"People do _this_ for fun?" Hermione asked, as if she was appalled at the thought of it. Ron had started dancing at the club three months ago now, and out of all of his friends, Hermione was the only one who hadn't been to see him. Luna had considered it some kind of art, while Neville had simply found it funny. Lavender had asked to see the show 'in private', and Ron was still trying to forget that night.

"Hermione, it'll be fun, I promise," Harry said as he held out her chair. Noticing that the floor was sticky, she grimaced while she took her seat.

"I just don't understand the appeal. Why would you want to watch someone take their clothes off?" she asked, and Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _Who wouldn't?_

The lights began to dim and the background chatter faded. The show was starting.

* * *

Hiding behind his coat, Ron downed the vial of Calming Draught. Hermione was out there, and that was the last thing he needed. He knew she was going to hate it before she'd even seen it. She'd already set her mind.

"Ron, two minutes! What are you doing?" David asked, irate. Ron sighed heavily and turned to face him, his face set hard.  
"Nothing," he said.

"Don't tell me your nervous?" David asked, smiling as Ron squirmed.

"It's nothing. There's just someone out there who I'd rather were somewhere else."

"Ah, a hater. Uptight, are they? Not their thing?" David asked, nodding sagely as if he wasn't only twenty two.

"Something like that," Ron begrudgingly admitted as they made their way towards the curtain.

"Just shake it off, Ron," David shrugged. "You can't please everyone, why bother trying?"

* * *

As Hermione watched, she began to feel uncomfortable. She didn't like the look of any of the men, that was for sure. The guy in the middle seemed too squeaky clean, too plastic. The rest of them were bland. Ron was too… Ron. But there was something that made the heat rise in her core and her heart race a little faster, and it only grew more and more pronounced as the articles of clothing on the dancers lessened.

"You know, I find it rather funny how Ron always plays second fiddle," George commented with a wide grin, but Hermione didn't hear it.

The collar of her dress felt uncomfortable, her tights too restrictive. That was when she realised what it was. She was clothed, and they weren't. She had the power, even though they were on stage. They were completely at the audience's mercy.

Although she'd only made the statement an hour ago, she mentally retracted what she'd said to Harry at the door. People do this for fun, yes, and Hermione considered the idea of becoming one of them.


End file.
